


In The Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening

by lamardeuse



Category: I Spy (1965)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotty takes Kelly home to Mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Cool, Cool, Cool of the Evening

It was one of those sticky August nights Scotty remembered from his childhood, back when, you were certain, everything had been _more: _snows had been higher, summers had been more sweltering, ice cream had been sweeter, life had been better. Well, maybe those last two were right, but Scotty wasn't about to admit it, and certainly not aloud. Kelly was already in too much of a mood to make comparisons, tally up regrets, and there had been enough of that lately to last them another decade.

After leaving Kelly's aunt and uncle, they'd gone straight to headquarters and reported in, and then after a visit to a doctor who’d cleaned and bandaged Kel’s ankle, Scotty had declared them on vacation for two weeks. Kelly had voted for the Riviera, but when he wasn't looking Scotty had booked them both flights to Philadelphia. What Kelly needed now couldn't be found in a casino or a swanky hotel; what he needed now was to be reminded that he had a home, even though it was a borrowed one.

Then again, maybe it was presumptuous of him to think he knew what Kelly Robinson needed, even after all these years. Kel had exhibited this strange, focused calm since the moment they'd finished off the last of their pursuers at the farm, the kind he got when things were right down to the wire. The problem was, he hadn't dropped it, not during the briefing, not on the plane, not even when they'd got to Mom's place. Mom had accepted the stiff hug, her gaze questioning her son over Kel's shoulder, but Scotty had only shaken his head. What would he tell her, even if he could?

Thing was, Kel had never been easy to figure out, though on the surface he seemed like the simplest guy in the world. A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou, with the thou being variable according to the situation and the clime. The important point to remember about Kelly was that just about everything he said or did was a lie.  
_  
Maybe it's our time_.

What scared the hell out of Scotty was that he suspected Kel was finally starting to tell the truth. The truth as he believed it, anyway, which wasn't the same truth that necessarily ended in a messy death in Venice or Singapore or Poughkeepsie, not that there was much spy action in Singapore these days. But when somebody in their line of work started believing lines like that, belief could become reality faster than you could say Wimbledon.

And so, home to mother, though as Scotty watched Kelly shove forkfuls of cherry pie into his face with a kind of dutiful determination, he began to wonder if this had been the smart thing to do. And that was another body blow, wasn't it, because when they couldn't count on him to do the smart thing, maybe they really _were _–

No. No way. This was not happening. Kel had always had the gravity to drag him just about anywhere, but he also had the power to drag him down, and for the most part Scotty had been able to resist the more fatal component of the Kelly Robinson charm. That was not going to change now, not when Kel needed him more than ever.

“Would you like another piece, Kelly?”

Scotty looked up just as Kelly shot Mom an uncharacteristically insincere look of regret. “I wish I could, Mom, but it's just not going to happen tonight.”

“But you always have seconds of my cherry pie!”

Kel patted his slightly rounded belly. “Ah, but I'm not as young as I used to be. You wouldn't want me to lose my ability to dodge those killer serves, now would you?”

Scotty's gut tightened, the way it did whenever there was a fight around the corner. Kel's tone was silky, almost dangerous; he'd never taken that tone with Mom, and he wasn't gonna start now. As Mom's eyes widened in surprise, Scotty pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “You've done enough, Mom; Kel and I will clean up for you, okay?” Mom looked up at him, a flicker of fear in her eyes, and damn, _damn_, this had been a stupid idea. He turned to Kel, feeling rage surge inside him, but the stricken look on Kel's face as he stared at Mom stopped Scotty's anger cold. Nudging Kel with an elbow since his hands were full of plates, he caught Kel's eye and murmured, “C'mon. Make yourself useful.”

Kel followed him into the kitchen like a whipped dog, and they washed the dishes in silence, Kel drying while Scotty plunged his hands into hot, soapy water, making fists where Kel couldn’t see them. When they were nearly done, Kel's shoulders sagged. “I shouldn't have – ”

“No, you shouldn't have, but there's nothing we can do about it now.”

Kel closed his eyes. “I keep hurting the people I – ”

“Don't,” Scotty snapped. “Just - quit feeling sorry for yourself.”

Kel's head jerked up, gaze gone cold and hard. “That's all there is to it, huh?”

Scotty returned the look, measure for measure. “No, but it's a good place to start,” he said slowly.

“Okay, then,” Kel said, folding the damp towel and laying it carefully on the counter, “I thank you for that sage advice.”

“Where are you goin'?” Scotty demanded, as Kel turned away, heading for the door.

“You know me,” Kel said without looking back, “I've never been good at quitting cold turkey.”

    
    
    
    
   
    
    
    
    
 

  
The soft tap on his bedroom window didn't wake him; he'd been drifting in and out of sleep for a couple of hours, and this was one of the out times. Quietly, Scotty rose and threw open the window without hesitation, knowing who he'd find on the other side.

“I am on the wagon,” Kel told him, spreading his arms as if to say, _behold the new and improved me_. “I am now a recovering crybaby.”

Scotty shook his head. “Don't get my hopes up. Are you coming in or do I have to go out there?”

“I would be honored if you would partake of the fine night air with me,” Kel said, with a small dip of his head.

Mouth thinning, Scotty grabbed his robe off the chair and tied it around himself before climbing out onto the fire escape. As he settled himself beside Kel, he sniffed. “The fine night air is redolent of bourbon fumes,” he observed.

“I find that it helps the recovery process,” Kel informed him, as primly as any schoolmarm.

“You drink enough with those horse pills the doc gave you for your ankle and you’re gonna be flying so high you’ll never reach the ground again.”

“Wouldn’t be so bad, wouldn’t be so bad. I could wave to you – from the clouds.” He waggled his fingers to demonstrate. “Like so.”

“You are a constant worry to me, Watson,” Scotty said, because it was time for some real truth, whether Kel was ready to hear it or not.

He could feel Kel's eyes on him in the darkness for a long time before he turned away and murmured, “I know it.”

“No, I don't know if you do,” Scotty growled, reaching out to cup Kel’s chin and turn his face back around. Kel’s eyes flared with some unnameable emotion, lighting up the darkness before Scotty pulled him forward just enough to bring their mouths together.

When they parted, Scotty’s heart was beating triple time because they didn’t do this, not _this_, and certainly not _here_, with his mother’s open bedroom window barely twenty feet away. Kel blinked at him a couple of times, as though every snappy retort he’d been planning had just dribbled out his ears. Scotty tamped down a feeling of smug satisfaction.

“Now you listen to me,” Scotty said, pitching his voice as low as he could, because God knew what his mother had heard already, “we are gonna spend the night here, and in the morning Mom is going to make us a stack of pancakes and you are going to eat every one she puts in front of you, along with two more. Then you are going to call your aunt and uncle and see how they’re doing. You will promise to write to them –” Kel opened his mouth “– shut up, and you are going to write to them as promised, every month. You got me?”

Kel stared at him, then nodded slowly. “I got you,” he said softly, and Scotty tried to ignore the way it sounded like a promise.

“Okay, then,” Scotty muttered, shifting so that his feet dangled over the edge of the fire escape. He remembered stifling summer nights out here, sleeping under the stars, only the stars were frail, faded things in the Georgetown sky. That night at Kel’s aunt and uncle’s place, you could see the power of the stars, the brilliant, angry swath of the Milky Way trailing across the heavens. Scotty thought about young Kelly dreaming underneath that nighttime splendor. Was he going to be a cowboy, a pilot, an insurance salesman? What had he wanted, and when had it all changed?

“How's Mom?” Kel asked, and the voice was that of a lost little boy, one who wasn't sure he had the right to ask. And in that moment, Scotty knew when it had changed, and what he had to offer this complicated, beautiful, terrible man sitting beside him.

“She's fine, man,” he murmured. “She's put up with a lot worse than you in her time.” He paused, then added softly, “And so have I.”

Kel turned to look at him then, and Scotty could finally see some of the burden of the past few days slipping from him. “Yeah, you have,” he agreed. One graceful hand rose, hesitated, then brushed against Scotty's stubble-rough cheek. Blood humming in his veins, Scotty leaned into it and closed his eyes to give Kel the chance to slip through unobserved. It made things easier, and since very little in their lives was easy these days, Scotty figured it was the least he could do. First rule of the spy business: if nobody saw it, it didn't happen.

“Hey,” Kel murmured against his mouth; Scotty's eyes opened to slits, enough to see a sliver of cheek as pale as the moon. “You think maybe, someday, when we're too old to run and karate chop bad guys – ”

Scotty tried to sound nonchalant, but it was hard when his voice was shaking. “A loaf of bread, a jug of wine – ”

“And a row house in Philly.”

“221B Baker Street?” Scotty asked, mouth curving.

“You'd look ravishing in a deerstalker,” Kel breathed, and Scotty drew back, grinning, the laugh fighting to burst out of him.

“Alexander?” They jumped apart at the sound of his mother's voice. Scotty twisted just in time to see her bedroom light come on.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Is Kelly home?”

Scotty smiled, but didn't turn back, giving his partner a few more moments of escape. “Yeah, Mom. He is.”

**Author's Note:**

> First published July, 2007.


End file.
